


Written in Ink

by kingcoldwaughter (WhichWolfWins)



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Amnesia, Amnesiac Quentin Coldwater, Angst, Bad Decisions, Depression, F/M, M/M, Magic Made Them Do It, Quentin Coldwater makes mistakes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-14 09:31:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14133243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhichWolfWins/pseuds/kingcoldwaughter
Summary: There's a book in the library that really shouldn't be there and Quentin has the bad fortune of being the one who finds it.





	Written in Ink

**Author's Note:**

  * For [el-and-q](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=el-and-q).



> This fic was inspired by [el-and-q](https://el-and-q.tumblr.com/) who requested that "Quentin get amnesia" and it took on a life of its own. I hope you like it!
> 
> I will update the tags for this as I go. Eventual E-rating Queliot.
> 
> If you want to request a Queliot fic, do so at my multi-fandom blog [here](http://eveningsoother.tumblr.com/) or my Magicians blog [here](http://kingcoldwaughter.tumblr.com/)!

Quentin was mad at himself for how quickly he went back to the way he was before finding out about magic. Yeah, he knew, as the guy who’d been institutionalized twice now that he wasn’t going to just be fine someday, but there was that part of him, the guy who had let his medication become a thing of the past, that bought into what Dean Fogg had said and wanted to believe that magic was the, well, magical cure he’d been hoping for since depression had first descended on him when he was younger.

So he found himself in an even deeper pit of despair because he’d let himself fall for it and lay on his bed glaring at the ceiling until even that became too much to bear and he fled his room in search of any kind of a distraction until eventually he found himself in the library. 

The clutter of large mahogany shelves and equally glossy brown tables and chairs were thankfully easy to get lost in. Quentin found himself perusing the myriad shelves for at least two hours. They were packed to overflowing with books of varying materials, shapes, sizes, and in every state of falling apart, and Quentin wished for the hundredth time that year that he could have more time to actually read them. 

The library was nearing empty as students trickled off to bed when Quentin came across one book that peaked his interest in particular. It was a simple black book made of leather, faded soft with age, and embossed on the spine was a single silver moth . No title, no nothing to signify what could be found within its pages, and yet Quentin couldn’t seem to move passed it. Curiosity took hold of him and Quentin reached for the book to withdraw it from the shelf. 

As his fingers closed around the book and he slid it out from the tight confines of the shelf, a feeling came over him as though the ground beneath him had fallen away for a moment, only a moment, only to appear there as quickly as it had gone, in just enough time to catch him before he fell through the earth. 

His stomach dropped and he caught himself on the bookshelf, striking his knuckles where he still clutched the book. He waited in fear that the shelf might topple, but was able to release a grateful breath as the sturdy shelves remained completely still as if nothing had happened at all. 

Righting himself, Quentin looked down at his intriguing find, noting that the moth was also on the cover, and it wasn’t just silver, but almost seemed to flutter as the color switched between that and gold. He thought perhaps it was magic that made the moth appear as if alive, but he convinced himself it was just a play of the light before he deigned to crack open the cover. 

Inside, he discovered, were spells. None that he recognized from any of the school books cluttering up his bedroom. And these were handwritten in a neat, flowing script that Quentin’s eyes and lips rushed along with as he read quietly to himself. 

It was as if he was possessed by his need to know what the book contained, so much so that, when he turned the page and discovered the various diagrams detailing the intricate fingerwork of multiple new spells, he placed the book open on the table and let his hands go along with the images laid out on the page. 

The last thing Quentin remembered was that same falling feeling, except, this time, there was no shelf close enough to catch himself when he fell, shouting, “oh shit!” before he hit the ground and all the lights went out.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're interested, follow me at my multi-fandom blog [here](http://eveningsoother.tumblr.com/) or my Magicians blog [here](http://kingcoldwaughter.tumblr.com/) where you can request a Queliot fic!


End file.
